


working you overtime

by defcontwo



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One dislocated shoulder and two minor intergalactic incidents later, and all Tim wants is a shower, a mushroom and swiss cheeseburger, and a blowjob, preferably in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	working you overtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CallMeBombshell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeBombshell/gifts).



> Jason and Star Wars. It's a thing.

The trouble with the best laid plans is that sometimes an easy mission, a mission that you tell yourself will be one week tops, in and out and on with your life, turns into two weeks turns into three and before you know it, it’s been over a month and a half and you’re about this close to snapping and depriving Bart of his supply of juice. 

No speedster should ever be allowed that much sugar, who the hell allowed that anyways. 

Tim loves his team. He loves them to a degree that on his best days, scares the shit out of him -- he would take a bullet or a knife to the gut or days of torture on end for any one of them without thinking about it twice. When he thinks about the time when they were fractured, in so many pieces, it’s a sharp phantom pain that he never wants to endure again. 

But they were not made to spend this much time together. 

One dislocated shoulder and two minor intergalactic incidents later, and all Tim wants is a shower, a mushroom and swiss cheeseburger, and a blowjob, preferably in that order. 

“Ugh, dude,” Kon says, nose wrinkling. “I don’t need to hear that shit.” 

Tim looks over from where he’s leaning wearily against the window at Titans Tower, and sighs. “I said that aloud, didn’t I.” 

“Uh, yeah, now cough up the money for my years of therapy, Rob.” 

Tim rubs at the back of his neck, wincing at all of the cricks and knots. “I need sleep. You good to take me home or should I take the jet?” 

“What, and let you crash land in the middle of bumfuck nowhere? I don’t think so. Climb aboard Kon Air, Rob,” Kon says, striding out onto the balcony. “But if you fall asleep and start drooling on me mid-flight, I reserve the right to drop you.” 

Tim huffs a laugh, bracing himself against Kon’s shoulder. “Fair enough.” 

\+ 

When he comes to, not even realizing how or when he’d fallen asleep in the middle of flying, Kon has come to a mostly inconspicuous landing on a rooftop five buildings over from his home. “You alright there, sleeping beauty?” 

“I just have to get to street level and then to the underground entrance to my cave, and it’ll be like I’m home already.” 

“All right. Enjoy those things you talked about that you’re never, ever gonna tell me about. Except for the cheeseburger, dude, that sounds good. Can we get cheeseburgers some time?” 

Tim snorts. “Yeah, cheeseburgers. I’ll pencil you in.” 

Kon takes off and Tim goes the rest of the way on autopilot, breathing a sigh of relief upon entering his cave and the elevator up to the rest of his place. Muffled voices from the television come from the direction of the living room, and Tim smiles, rolling his shoulders a bit and already starting to tug off his gauntlets and undo the traps on his Red Robin uniform. 

“This is un-fucking-believable,” Jason’s voice cries from the other room, and Tim shakes his head, thinking that Jason must have turned on Fox News again, a bad habit bordering on masochism that Tim is trying to break him of. 

“Your skin is soft, unlike sand, which is rough? What the fuck is this bullshit?” 

“Jason, why are you watching Attack of the Clones?” Tim asks. He leans over the couch, fingers tease at the curly hair at the nape of Jason’s neck, an action that Jason usually subconsciously leans into but doesn’t.

“I hadn’t seen the prequels yet, I thought it was about time that I finally get around to it. You know, dead, back to life, gone a little crazy, gone less crazy, whole big saga, you were kind of there for _some_ of it, didn’t exactly make it to the movies. And talk about a big fucking mistake. Way to destroy the only good thing left from my childhood, George Lucas,” Jason says, whining a little in that way he does when he’s in full on Overdramatic Jason Todd Mode. 

“Right,” Tim says, eyes rolling beneath his cowl. “So -- I’m home?” 

“And how am I supposed to believe that these two morons created someone as badass as Princess Leia? This is some Grade-A Bruce Wayne level bullshit.” 

“I’ve been gone? For like a month and a half?” 

“And to add insult to injury, Jar Jar Binks?” 

“Whatever, Star Trek is better,” Tim grumbles, hoping to provoke a rise. 

They’ve had this argument. They’ve had this argument extensively and thoroughly over the course of many days. They almost broke up over this argument which, given all the other things that they’ve fought about, even Tim can admit was a little on the extreme side. 

“Christ, what are they whining about now,” Jason complains at the screen. Tim looks up at the ceiling, mouthing _why_. 

Tim’s calf muscle twitches and he’s reminded of how much sweat is probably dried into this uniform at this point, so he pushes off from the couch and makes for the shower, leaving Jason to whatever the hell it is that he’s doing. 

“Three things. Three simple things, that’s all I asked for,” Tim says, muttering to himself as he tugs off his cowl, tossing it into a basket in the corner. 

He gives the bathtub a longing look, knowing that if he even goes down that road, he’ll end up falling asleep in there and who knows if Jason will even notice at this point if he drowns in their bathtub. 

The scalding hot water is somewhere between awful and exactly what he needs, as Tim scrubs off what feels like several days’ worth of sweat and dirt, taking stock of his newest bruises. It’s nothing that won’t heal in time -- his shoulder is already most of the way better, thank goodness for small graces. 

Tim turns off the water and steps out, taking a second to appreciate the way the steam has fogged up the room, before drying himself off quickly and shucking on some soft, grey sweatpants and one of Jason’s old t-shirts that hangs loosely on his smaller frame. 

He pads out into the kitchen and swings open the fridge, cocking his right hip against the door as he rummages through what food they have. 

They do not have anything remotely resembling a mushroom and swiss cheeseburger, that’s for fucking sure. 

It’s not even so much that he’s hungry as it is that he’s sick and tired of what he’s been eating for the past month and a half -- he wants something that’ll stick to his bones more than the basics the Titans have been living off of. 

He feels Jason coming up behind him, doesn’t have to turn around to picture him leaning against the opposite counter, all longer limbs and arms crossed over his chest. “So, you’re back.” 

Tim gives a half shrug. “What happened to the movie?”

“Paused it. I had the tiniest inkling that you _might_ be pissed if I wound up shooting the television.” 

“Good instincts,” Tim says. 

Lips quirking up into a smile but he’s not gonna turn around and give Jason the pleasure. He’s tired, yeah, but not so tired that he won’t play their little game. They wouldn’t be them without this give and take, and right now, Jason could stand to give a little more. 

“Hungry?”

“I want a cheeseburger.” 

“Little late for that.” 

Another shrug. “Wouldn’t be if we had the right ingredients.” 

Jason snorts. “What am I, your personal fucking chef, _Mister Wayne_?” 

“Hey, you’re the one who said that I’m not allowed to use the stove anymore.” Tim shoves the fridge door closed and turns around. 

“Yeah, well, you almost burned down the whole goddamn kitchen,” Jason says. 

Jason pushes off from the counter, moving to stand about as close to Tim as possible without touching him. “Did you miss me?” 

Tim rises up on the balls of his feet to lean in and nip at Jason’s bottom lip, to bite until blood beads up, tongue swiping out to catch it, before lowering himself to the floor again. “Nope.” 

“Liar,” Jason says, angling his head down, white shock of hair brushing across Tim’s forehead and then he’s laughing, low and close, into a kiss. Tim lets Jason back him back into the fridge door as he deepens the kiss, all wet and filthy and perfect, Jason tasting of copper and mint toothpaste. And then Tim is hooking one hand around Jason’s neck to get leverage as he wraps his legs around Jason’s waist, and the other to fumble with the fly of Jason’s jeans. “Fuck, you fucking prissy -- I cannot _believe you_ sometimes,” Jason says, sucking marks into the pale skin of Tim’s neck. 

“What about you and your movie, shit, I should dump you for Zachary Zatara, I bet he’d magic me up a goddamn cheeseburger, oh _fuck_ ,” Tim says, gasping, and there’s no finesse to this -- this desperate rutting, the culmination of so many weeks away and so many nights spent alone. He’s probably going to screw up his shoulder all over again banging against the fridge door like this but it will be so, _so_ worth it.

It’s not exactly what Tim had in mind for tonight but yeah -- he’ll take it.


End file.
